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There was a lot of talk about me when I first got married.
I had not known him very long.......I spoke no Spanish.........he knew very little English.
He was illegal.
I'm genuinely curious, how did you know you wanted to marry him when you couldn't communicate well? I'm not judging, my sister married an immigrant and is very happy (although they spoke each other's language).
I'm genuinely curious, how did you know you wanted to marry him when you couldn't communicate well? I'm not judging, my sister married an immigrant and is very happy (although they spoke each other's language).
I'm genuinely curious, how did you know you wanted to marry him when you couldn't communicate well? I'm not judging, my sister married an immigrant and is very happy (although they spoke each other's language).
I don't know............sometimes I think we got along better when we did not know what the other one was saying.
When I was working as a medical assistant at an OB-GYN's office in the late 1960s, I used to peek at the patient's files and read what was in them because I found them interesting. While doing this I discovered that the doctor I worked for was doing abortions (which were then illegal) by having a psychiatrist write a letter that the woman was mentally unstable and that the pregnancy would be life-threatening. Later this doctor became a well-known anti-abortion spokesman.
I'm genuinely curious, how did you know you wanted to marry him when you couldn't communicate well? I'm not judging, my sister married an immigrant and is very happy (although they spoke each other's language).
Maybe Driller took him under a bridge and used a tape measure!
Me, I grew up in a political family on dad's side, who was in the news several times per week, so there was lots of public drama (which was very stressful as a child). Then my mother joined a series of cults, settling on a very unpopular one that knocks on your doors. So I was the child of locally famous people, forced to knock on doors to tell people hallucinogenic warnings from a Bronze Age book. My mother is a weirdo on a lot of other levels too, so my entire childhood was basically one giant humiliation.
As an adult, I am fearless and take on challenges in my career, such as leadership positions in struggling organizations. And I turn them around, but not without a lot of being stabbed in the back a lot.
I also have a rare medical condition that causes a variety of symptoms in my whole body, which has been a constant source of speculation and criticism from the work and school bullies throughout my lifetime. I figured out that messing with them was fun and got them back for their dumbassery, so I made up wild stories as a teenager and told different people conflicting stories, on purpose. I became a legend, even though they were obvious lies.
Caught kissing my (gay) boyfriend by my dad. He deliberately spied on us.
Edit: Okay, a user reputed me and asked "what happened?" Nothing too dramatic. He was very shaken, shocked and disturbed by what he saw. We were in a storeroom. We were making out heavily. He peeked through a hole (not sure where it was). I did sense that he was us, as we were driving home. He wasn't himself. He told my mother and sister, but he never faced me on the "incident". That's now pretty much in our back pocket. We don't speak of it. My family still thinks I'm straight, and they imagine me to be with a woman in the future. Oh well, others have it worse than me anyway.
Let's see. My grandfather was a bootlegger and he ran a speakeasy in the basement or some other room in the family home. My mom never seems to do a good job of completing the story, she was pretty young when he died in a fire.
There was an incident with my grandma when my mom was a kid. A "hussy" came to the door looking for my grandad. she shooed her away. Pulling a rifle on the woman. For some reason I don't think I have heard the full story. Maybe one day mom will fill in the gaps.
My mom got married on Halloween and later annulled that marriage. I don't know why it was annulled. It happened before she met my dad.
My dad met one of his best friends when he was 20 and in the Army. When I was a kid, "Fred," would visit about every year (he lived cross-country). We always had a rotating door of my dad's friends and relatives staying for days or weeks at a time. Fred never stayed over. When I was in my mid-20s, my mom told me she banned Fred from staying over, since he always traveled with one of his mistresses, and my mom did not allow mistresses in the house. I also finally met his wife around this time. They stayed over with my parents. And found out they have a daughter who is my age and I have never met. Apparently most of my dad's friends had mistresses.
And one more story. About a work trip to Vegas. I had a crazy coworker one time. Me and three of my coworkers were at a tradeshow. During one of the evenings, we all planned to meet up for dinner, drinks and checking out the sites. We all met in the casino and I called up the missing guy. He said "hey, my room has an excellent view, you guys should check it out before dinner." So we hopped in the elevator and went up to his floor. When we got to his door it was cracked open. I knocked, and he said "come in!" When I walked in there was a trail of clothing on the floor, and he was in bed under the sheets. He then patted the space next to him and was like "come here." Awkward. And remember, I have 2 other colleagues trailing right behind. We awkwardly walked to the window to check out the view and then left and told him to meet us downstairs when he was ready.
My first "real job", as a little girl (a step up from pulling weeds, for enough spare change to buy cornmeal) was with our county's 'Boss Bootlegger' (it was a "dry" county). I parked myself on top of the Executive Console (arm rest https://notoriousluxury.files.wordpr...2014/01/83.jpg ), between the back seats of his black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham Talisman, and counted the money, as his underlings would emerge from the brush beside those one-lane roads, handing the cash in through the window. I'd make neat notations, and then stash the money in the Executive Storage Compartment under my butt. I watched my boss doing some pretty brutal things. But heck: I hadn't even hit puberty, and already, I was an Executive Comptroller.
Our house was an abandoned sharecropper's shack, at the edge of the woods, across a ditch from a farmer's field. I had one special knothole, in particular, which I kept stuffed with Kleenex (it's silent...). When Mama was with a john, I'd get up under the house, pull the Kleenex out, and watch them through the knothole. People wonder why a man as desirable as my husband, hasn't dumped me and taken up with some beautiful young gold-digger. But the answer to the question, "How does she keep a man like that?!", is my early exposure to to the 'fambly bidnis'.
When I was seventeen, I put my favorite belongings in a paper bag, and walked out to the road, where a nice white lady was waiting to take me off to college. I did not bother to tell Mama, my Grandmother, or my Great-Grandmother. I just abandoned them. I'd stopped telling them my plans, when they'd started telling me, "Girl, you ain't goin' tuh no college. Only place you's goin' is tuh thuh Crazy House." And that was that. They were dead to me, and the two older ones never heard from me again. In retrospect, I realize that this was about as cruel and heartless as anything could possibly be.
At my old gym, there was a man the guys called "Horse ---k". He was a beautiful, hairy, Highland Scot type, with big blond eyebrows, hairy blond shoulders, hairy chest, hairy blond back, a great build, a great face, and... IT. The guys at his job, once pooled their money, to pay him to look at some girly mags, while they watched, to get it to a measurable state. He tried, but couldn't. But he was a huge showoff. My 'Little Birds' told me that his fave trick was to shave, nel nudo, in front of a locker room sink, with it disappearing into the soapy water - which was quite a reach. About this time, I was reading a bio of the torch singer, Mistinguett. As a young thing, Mistinguett would take the fellas of the village under the bridge, and take a tape measure to them. Always finding literature inspirational, I applied this new idea (and a tape measure) to 'Horse...', while my husband chaperoned this event. I succeeded where "the guys at work" failed, and got a definitive reading. We have repeated this procedure, with different fellas, a time or two.
Does any of this count?
Girl, please write a book!
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